“If you wish.”

McElroy clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically. “Excellent! I believe I saw a smallish table in the library that could be put to the purpose.” He nodded to one of the footmen lining the wall. “Have the port brought to the library. And one of you fetch a deck of cards from my room. Pierson will show you where one is.” He offered Serena his arm and she laid a hand on his sleeve, glancing at Lockheart.

McElroy grinned at his friend. “Sorry, old chap, you walk alone tonight.”

The next few hours were some of the oddest in her life—a life that held no shortage of odd moments. There was a tension between the two men she had not noticed before, and there were uncomfortable currents in the room she did not understand.

Once in the library, a table was moved closer to the fire, a shawl was fetched for Serena, and cards arrived.

McElroy broke the seal on a new pack and commenced to shuffle them in a manner that proclaimed his familiarity with gambling louder than words would have done.

“How would you feel about learning a new game, Mrs. Lombard. It is called vingt-et-un.”

Mr. Lockheart crossed his arms but made no sound.

“Oh, I’ve heard of that.”

“Ah, I thought you might have.” His smirk reminded her of a serpent.

Serena had no idea what his aggressively knowing look meant and couldn’t help wondering if he was foxed. She hadn’t noticed how much he’d drank during dinner, but, then again, she hadn’t been paying attention to him. Why would she when Gareth Lockheart was in the room? He looked like a statue, as usual, but she would have sworn he was furious.

“The rules are very simple—you wish to accumulate vingt-et-un, but nothing greater than that. I will give you two cards, and you may ask for more. The ace has a special role in that it can represent either one point, or eleven.” His hands, which had been shuffling the cards nonstop, halted. He glanced around. “But wait, we have no stakes.”

“No.”

McElroy and Serena both turned to Lockheart.

“What’s that you say, Gare?”

“I said no stakes. There will be no gambling. Deal the cards, Declan.”

The men locked eyes and it was the Irishman who first broke away. He chuckled and shrugged, his hands resuming their rhythmic motions. “I will abide by the will of our host, Mrs. Lombard. You will just have to image the excitement, the air thick with tension as men—and women! —wager their fortunes, their ancestors’ homes, their very lives.” The fire was not the only thing crackling in the room by the time he ceased speaking.